Welcome to our Vegan Abattoir!
Please don these blue forensic booties. They will make you feel like you are on CSI: Salad.
“There is no CSI: Salad,” you say? No, there isn’t. Not yet. Just wait till the network gets back to me about my pitch.
Please watch your step. Our floors are polished daily with vegan lard.
It’s a security measure. We’ve had some problems with the Plants Rights Activists. Plants Rights Activists think we should be eating bacteria and viruses exclusively. And fungi, but only if it’s terminally ill. Moribund mushrooms? No, thank you. That’s all right for some people. For the rest of us, there’s plants.
We’ve moved on since the dawn of prehistory, since the first time a caveman clubbed a carrot.
We’ve moved on since The Renaissance, when people burned green beans to keep warm. Burned them alive.
We live in an enlightened age now.
We are a vegan abattoir. We slaughter vegetables. Fruits too. Humanely. Or should I say “plantain-ly”? That was a little green joke. All of the jokes at our abattoir are green. Because we care about the environment. I may tell you that joke again later. Because recycling is also good for the environment.
Here at our vegan abattoir, we butcher plants for the modern, evolved human.
We follow a strict moral code. For example, we don’t slaughter baby corn. We only kill corn that has reached the age of majority.
Each method of killing is tailored to the individual plant.
These are lentils. We pour them into that stainless-steel bin over there and leave them for 24 hours. They bore themselves to death. Have you ever tasted a lentil? Then you understand.
We take plant psychology into account with our methods. Do you see these green onions? Green onions are social plants. They form herds, congregating in bunches of five. So, after we’ve knocked them off, we bind them together with elastic bands in the same bunches of five. They live together, they die together. They cling to each other after they’ve died. It’s heart-warming.
Not to get all Jungian or anything, but it’s a known fact that fruits have a collective unconscious. You have to admit, raspberries even look like tiny brains. That’s why we kill them with logic. Ten pages of Charles Babbage and they’ve had it.
The Brussels sprouts? We gas them. You might say they gas themselves. Irony? Poetic justice? You decide. Have you ever eaten one? Then perhaps you and everyone you live with will appreciate that.
We don’t let anything go to waste here. My son’s bedroom is wallpapered with celery leaves. He wanted dinosaurs, but I explained to him that dinosaurs are extinct. Celery leaves aren’t. It’s that simple.
Never mind that. That’s just a vat of goo. It’s not important what it’s made of.
No, it’s not asparagus. We don’t allow asparagus in our abattoir. Asparagus is evil, and we have standards.
Let me tell you about how we make our nut milk.
First, we take handfuls of nuts and soak them overnight in a warm, soothing bath. We burn incense and play some Sharon, Lois & Bram. Their early work, not the later stuff when they got all political.
We add honey to the nut bath, for sweetness and comfort.
Then we put them through a hydraulic press to squeeze out the juice.
The screams of those nuts being squeezed aren’t audible to the naked ear, but if you wear these special headphones, you can hear them. I’m in talks with Sony to cut an album.
My favorite milk is walnut milk because those nuts know how to shriek.
After the press, we decant the nut milk into cartons so that people can pour it over their Honey Nut Cheerios and feel good about themselves. As well they should.
No, we only slaughter plants meant for food. If you want to disembowel a pumpkin while it’s still alive, throw its innards onto a compost heap and pose the hollow shell of its skull on your doorstep to impress the neighbor’s kids, that’s your business.
These are our parsnips. We kill them by bashing them over the heads with a rubber mallet and carving out their kidneys.
Don’t talk to me about parsnips’ rights. Have you ever tasted a parsnip? Then you know they deserve it.
Don’t give me that look. There’s a factory down the block where they do unspeakable things to cheese. They’re not vegan, but we are, so we’re better.
Oh, come on. Who hasn’t felt a frisson of sadistic pleasure while mowing the lawn? Decapitating those allergen-spewing grasses? It makes you feel alive.
Oh! You feel sorry for grass, do you? Hang on, while I slice you a cucumber on the world’s smallest mandolin.
Look, I do have a conscience. Sometimes, when I’m driving home in my certified vegan car, smelling of blueberries. I contemplate my place in the universe. And I think, maybe those blueberries will be used to taunt a bear. Or maybe they’ll end up in a gelato. It’s one of the great mysteries of life.
Sometimes I wonder if there’s a god. But I’m doubtful there could be a benevolent god and parsnips in the same universe.